


Time To Rest

by justfe3hthings



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Cuddle Bondage, Dimitri Sandwich, Feels, Gags, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, Morning Sex, Multi, Non-Explicit First Chapter and Then:, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, slight mention of past trauma, very soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:33:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29723550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justfe3hthings/pseuds/justfe3hthings
Summary: Dimitri may be king, but at the Gautiers, he's something else at the end of the day. Mostly a puddle of Tired.For Bottomitri Weekend!Prompts: Restraints/Bondage, Sharing a Bed, Domesticity, Multiple Partners, Tenderness
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Sylvain Jose Gautier/Mercedes von Matritz
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22
Collections: Bottomitri Weekend





	Time To Rest

"Uncle Dima! Mama says you're not supposed to be working at bedtime!"

Dimitri pauses his carefully written response to Claude's most recent inquiry to help his nephew clamber up onto his lap.

"Well, precious," he says, addressing his niece, glaring at him from across the desk that Sylvain and Mercedes lent him for when he stays at the Gautier estate. It's very disconcerting to see Mercedes's eyes so strict, even if they're peering out from the face of a seven-year-old. "Uncle Dima has important things to finish first, and then I can stop for the night."

"But Mama said!" The four-year-old sitting on his knee says, insistent, and Dimitri can't help but laugh. 

"And we wouldn't want to upset your mama, would we?" 

Both children shake their heads, serious, and he's struck again with the blend of Sylvain and Mercedes that peeps beneath their own personalities and features.

He marvels, for the hundredth time, at his fortune. To still be alive, witnessing the happiness of all his friends and loved ones and to steal some of it for himself, to run a kingdom that finally was at peace, more or less. It’s a blessing and a burden that he carries very seriously, although he knows that _right now_ he's supposed to be laying it aside.

"Aren't you both supposed to be getting ready for bed?" he asks, looking from one child to the other.

They both start at that and Dimitri widens his eye with them. How quickly children forget their own faults when they are pointing out those of others.

"If you don't tell, I won't tell." he promises, soberly.

They both nod their heads eagerly and then all three of them freeze when Sylvain leans against the office doorway and says, "There you all are!" 

"Ah," Dimitri clears his throat, avoiding Sylvain's gaze and the children look to him, eyes wide with worry. "It must be later than we thought?"

"Mmhmm." Sylvain says, "'I'm just going to go tidy up the office and then be right up'?"

Dimitri blushes at being caught out in the lie and opens his mouth to apologize.

"Are you two excited for a bedtime story?" Sylvain asks, before he can get out a word, strolling around the desk, to answer the call of his son's outstretched arms.

"Yes, Papa!" they both say, eagerly, all worries at being caught out forgotten.

"Then let's go get you ready."

Sylvain hoists his son up on his hip and looks over Dimitri's shoulder.

"Emergency matters of state, your majesty?" he asks, teasing.

"I have much to attend to, Sylvain. I can't just--" Dimitri insists, hiding his face away.

"Let me see." 

Dimitri hands him Claude's letter and his own response, squirming under Sylvain's knowing smile, and admiring the man's ability to jostle both a kicking four-year-old and multiple papers. The letter _was_ important, they had only a few short months until they were supposed to meet for negotiations, and everything had to be--

"Dimitri." Sylvain says, firmly, and Dimitri winces, "Claude's asking about _seating arrangements_."

"We've been getting preparations set up for months, Sylvain, it’s very--"

"For months?" Sylvain asks, handing back the letters and Dimitri can't help his blush at the smirk. "Surely, then, you can take the evening off. Even though it’s so important? It’s not like the negotiations aren't going to drag on for a couple of months anyway."

"And Mama said you're not supposed to be working at bedtime." His niece crosses her arms, and it looks so much like something Sylvain would have done as a child that it makes Dimitri's heart ache.

"Mama also said that you should be getting ready for bed." Mercedes says, serene, and her daughter jumps. 

Sylvain coughs back a laugh.

"And we all better do what you say, eh Mercedes?" he asks, giving her a chaste kiss when she collects their son.

"Yes." She smiles, and turns to Dimitri, "You still up for joining us for a nightcap?"

There's not a request there, he knows, and so he nods. 

"Alright, we'll probably be up there in a half-hour or so. If you get up there first, make yourself comfortable." She ushers the kids towards the door without waiting for his response.

Sylvain squeezes his shoulder, silencing any protest as he takes the quill that Dimitri's picked up again and puts it away.

"Come on, Dima." he says, slow and patient, without the usual deference he does for his king. "You know the rules. It's time to put this all aside and rest."

Dimitri sighs and nods, carefully shuffling papers into organized groups for his work tomorrow. His usual excuses sputter away under the warm weight of Sylvain's hand. He self-consciously puts everything away, face burning a little at being _supervised_ , but he supposes that he's earned that.

"There." he says, after a moment, "I'm done."

"Very good," Sylvain rewards him with another squeeze, before the hand falls away to let him stand up. "I need to go help get the children to bed."

Dimitri follows him out.

"If you get up there before we do, make sure that you and the drinks are ready, then go sit on the sofa." Sylvain says, before they split, Sylvain to join Mercedes in their nightly rituals with their children, Dimitri to change out of his attire and into something a little more comfortable, just appropriate enough that if he runs into any servants on the way, it’s not going to offend or cause rumors. He hopes.

He does arrive first, and sets about the few tasks he's been given, checking that the fire in the hearth is bright and warm before approaching the side table where Sylvain usually pours the wine or prepares the tea for the evening.

There's a bottle waiting for him to pour, and he carefully pours a glass for Sylvain and Mercedes, and then hesitates. There's a third wine glass, but the chamomile and a mug has been pulled out as well, as if Sylvain hadn't decided which to serve him.

Dimitri swallows, considering, and suddenly feels very tired. So he leaves the decision to Sylvain and Mercedes, bringing their glasses to the side tables on either end of the sofa, treading carefully to make sure they don't spill, treating the fragile glass with as much delicacy as possible. 

From there, it’s a simple matter to strip down to the undershirt and underpants he wears to bed, to neatly fold the rest of his clothing and put it away in the drawer designated for it.

A thick blanket lays folded on his spot on the sofa, and he pulls it around him tightly, waiting. The chill in Gautier creeps through everywhere, even in the margrave's bedchamber and it warms his heart that they thought to his comfort, even if they want him undressed.

Usually, if they've not all come up together, he's not alone for long, and tonight is no exception. Dimitri straightens as familiar voices draw near and both Sylvain and Mercedes amble through the doorway.

They both look tired, but their eyes light up when they see him and Dimitri's heart glows. Gone are all the times that his friends shied away from his presence, flinching when he cast his gaze through them. Even on nights when he can't fully push away the madness that still lingers, he can say he's made progress.

Sylvain strides over, his eyes flickering to either end table and then land on Dimitri, pleased.

"Nothing for yourself to drink, Dimitri?" One of his big hands run through Dimitri's hair and he leans into the touch, hungry for more.

"You didn't indicate what I was to have. And I know the rules. I'm not to make any decisions." Dimitri replies, wincing as the hand gently tugs and pulls his eyepatch away. 

"I'm sorry," he says, hastily, quiet, guilty, "I forgot."

"It's alright." Sylvain reassures, winding an arm around Mercedes' shoulder when she walks up and drapes her own around his waist. "You just forgot. It happens."

"Ah, sweetheart," Mercedes says, cupping her hand on his cheek, and he leans into it just as easily as he had Sylvain's touch, marveling at the contrast between Sylvain's callouses and her soft palm. "You must be more exhausted than we thought."

Dimitri closes his eye, soaking up the warmth of their touches, then struggles to open it again. 

"Am I?" he stumbles, guilt rising to the surface again. "I broke a rule, too. Am I in trouble?"

He doesn’t break the rules, often, and is never quite sure what to expect.

Sylvain opens his mouth, but its Mercedes that answers first.

"No, absolutely not." The words are firm, but no trace of anger tints them. "You are so _good_ for us, Dimitri, you aren't ever going to be in trouble."

"Unless you want to be punished for fun, Dima." Sylvain interrupts, winking, "You might enjoy being put over our knees."

Dimitri flushes deeply, interest stirring at the thought. 

Sylvain yelps as Mercedes digs fingers into his side, tickling him.

"I don't think that that's a direction we want to encourage him tonight, dearest." She scolds Sylvain, laughing, and then turns her attention back to Dimitri, soft eyes still sparkling. "You have so much on your shoulders, Dimitri, we just want to help you lay your burdens down and relax for a time. We want to give you the good things you deserve and to enjoy having you to ourselves, not to punish you if you have a hard time letting go. Breaking the rules just means that you have less time to rest, and that we need to make sure you get the most out of it."

He blinks away the sudden moisture that's gathered at the corner of his eye, and Sylvain sits next to him, giving him a half-hug.

"We love you, Dima. Remember, we're just here to relax and have fun. You can't possibly be-" A yawn splits Sylvain's face. " _Bad_." 

Mercedes laughs as she catches the yawn as well. 

"I think we're all a little too tired to do anything overly exciting tonight." 

She leans down, whispering in Sylvain's ear. He grins, turns to whisper back, and Dimitri politely leans away, trying to give them the privacy to conspire.

Mercedes steps off towards the large closet behind Dimitri, Sylvain gives his shoulder a squeeze and moves off as well, leaving Dimitri with a warm smile and the very pleasing sight of him tugging his shirt over his head and revealing the muscled back underneath. 

He watches and listens while they set about their tasks, blushing when Sylvain catches him gawking and then blushes further when he makes a show of the rest of his undressing and preparation for bed. 

"Can't keep your eyes to yourself, can you?" he teases, pulling a plush robe over his underclothes and sauntering over, joined by Mercedes returning from the closet.

Dimitri doesn't ignore his comment on purpose, it just sort of happens that his attention is drawn to the basket that Mercedes sets next to him, full of the leather straps that he recognizes as belonging to the harness that he'd been introduced the last time he'd came to Gautier territory. There are a few other items that he's puzzled by: a long, wide strip of nearly sheer white cloth, a ball of twine, scissors, as well as another item that he definitely knows and has a complicated relationship with.

"Is the gag necessary?" he asks, treats the padded leather gag to a mistrusting glare, and then purses his lips, suddenly aware that his tone was more argumentative than either of them deserved. 

"No," Mercedes says, gentle as always, "but I think you'll appreciate it, once you've gotten settled in." 

Dimitri didn't fully agree, but he couldn't argue against the handful of prior experiences with the gag where he _had_ enjoyed it. Or, more likely, enjoyed what Sylvain and Mercedes were doing to him while he was wearing it. Tonight, he suspected, there wouldn't be a lot of that going on, though.

"Do you want us to wait for you while you get ready for bed, or shall I get started?"

"Wait for me, if you don't mind. I'll only be a minute."

Sylvain nods, and Dimitri receives the most serious look he's been given all evening.

"Any objections to anything so far tonight?"

Dimitri pauses, giving the basket's contents another moment of thoughtful consideration, thinks back over the few things done already, and shakes his head.

"I would like to know what you have planned for me. But no, I don't have any real objections."

"We're not going to be doing much tonight, any way this goes. How are you feeling? Will you need something to drink to settle you for the night?"

"Tired, but present. I think I'll be alright without." It's not always the case. Some nights, the old ghosts fill the edges of his weariness and he finds himself pulling apart at the seams, drifting between here and then, tired but not restful enough to sleep. Those are the sort of nights that the rules were made for, to give himself the ability to turn himself over to someone else's care, for them to help bring him back to himself.

He's gotten a little bit better over the past few years, with peace in Fodlan and the help of several friends, Sylvain and Mercedes included. He can feel a little of that ever-present hazy madness at the very edge, but it’s not bad.

Sylvain smiles at him, Mercedes drawing close to his side, mismatched socks poking underneath her own robe. That silliness helps ground him too. He still worries about what exactly they have planned, but he knows he can trust them.

"You ready to make our boy all cozy?" Sylvain asks, giving her an affectionate kiss, before they sit on either side of him, maneuver him with his back to Sylvain, and put the basket next to him, easy access for all.

He quickly realizes that they've added some things to the simple chest harness. While Sylvain straps him into the harness, tight as a hug, Mercedes starts at his ankles, binding them each first with a fur-lined leather cuff, then to each other with a metal clip. She moves up his legs, binding together his knees and thigh in the same fashion, carefully checking that there's no pinching. 

Dimitri blushes the higher Mercedes' hands trail, but she pays the increasing interest tenting his clothing no mind. He's so distracted that he almost misses Sylvain slipping cuffs up his arms, up to the middle of his biceps, then clipping one to the harness, pulling Dimitri's arm in close, tethering it there.

"Sylvain?" he asks, turning slightly to look up at him, worried, testing the restriction with a small tug.

"It’s alright," Sylvain murmurs into his ear, kissing his temple, "We've got you. And we won't let anything happen to you, we promise."

Dimitri worries his bottom lip between his teeth, watching Mercedes hand Sylvain another set of cuffs, these for just above his elbows, and tests again when Sylvain clips one to the harness, along from the same side as before. 

She slips one last set on his wrists while Sylvain is doing this, and Dimitri trembles, letting her guide his forearm across his stomach, his hand to his opposite side. Mercedes pauses, clip in hand, looks up at him, and her expression softens.

She draws his hand up and presses a kiss to his knuckles, leans up and kisses him.

"I know, sweetheart. I know it’s hard. Trust us, for a minute?"

Sylvain's chest is against his back, he runs his warm hands along Dimitri's arms, a steady wall to lean on.

It’s a lot. There's plenty of light in the room, no damp chill in the air, this isn't the dungeons, deep under Fhirdiad. There's no Cornelia, no threat of execution or torture. There's no chains or manacles, no rough rope, just soft fur, and the gentle embrace of leather. 

It’s just them, in this warmer room, over a decade away, in a different life. But surrendering this little bit of freedom is almost more than he can bear.

He exhales, shaky, and nods. 

Mercedes smiles, gives him another kiss, and then settles back, neatly clipping Dimitri's wrist to the harness in the same movement, so efficient that he hardly realizes it's been done until afterwards.

"Can you reach all the buckles with your other hand, Dima?" 

Dimitri startles, craning his head to look at Sylvain once more in bewilderment.

"Go on," Sylvain smiles, copper eyes bright, "Don't undo any of them, we just want to know that you can if you need to."

Dazed, Dimitri checks, for all the cuffs along his other arm, and those along his legs, and then nods, watching Mercedes retrieve the twine and cut a short length, giving her his other hand when she reaches for it.

She deftly links the loops between the wrist cuff and the cuff just above his elbow on his bound arm, and ties them together with the twine, then smiles up at him.

He stares at her, incredulous.

"Break it," Sylvain says, and there's lips against the back of Dimitri's neck.

The twine snaps, hardly any effort needed.

"If you need to, you can break it at any time, understand?" Sylvain continues, as Mercedes cuts more strands and binds his free arm to the harness, to his bound wrist, and, finally, with a bow included, to his elbow.

Dimitri lays there, caught and hugging himself, against Sylvain's warm embrace, and understands. He's bound, but not trapped, can lay any worries aside by choice, and still feel sheltered in the limitations of his movements.

"Oh," he says, drawing in a deep breath in relief. "Thank you."

"Of course," Mercedes says, her eyes twinkling.

"There's a couple more things that we'd like to try tonight." Sylvain reaches back into the basket and grabs the bit of thin white cloth. "We'd like to see if you'd like this as a blindfold."

And all the anxiety of a moment ago comes rushing back.

"I'm not..." Dimitri swallows, throat suddenly dry, "I don't know if that's a good idea." There's a screaming horror there, a memory that he doesn't want to revisit.

"Let's try this." Mercedes takes the cloth, "I'm going to just hold it up over your eye, won't wrap it around your head or tie it off at all. If you don't like it, I'll take it right off, I promise."

Dimitri hesitates, and then nods, feeling very small.

Mercedes doubles the cloth, and Dimitri closes his eye, tensing in anticipation.

Sylvain squeezes him tight, murmurs something quiet and soft to the nape of his neck that he can't pick out in his anxious focus.

The cloth is cool, the pressure against his brow and cheek gentle, and he can smell the light lavender fragrance that Mercedes dabs at her wrists when she feels like being extravagant.

"Alright, Dimitri," she says, soft. "Look and let us know how you feel."

He inhales deeply, preparing himself for panic, but when he opens his eye, there's no need.

It's not a mass of black, his vision entirely taken away. There's a glow from the fire, he can still make out the shape of Mercedes' hand and, if he concentrates, her face. He remembers that he can break the twine and take it off, if he needs to, he has permission.

He exhales, relaxing again. Mercedes takes the cloth away.

"I feel alright," he's quick to confirm. "I think we can try it."

Sylvain gives him another squeeze, Mercedes smiles at him, and he feels. He feels so happy at their approval that he could burst.

They carefully wind the cloth around his head a time or two, passing the cloth between them and brushing his hair from his face. There's only the slight tug at the end to tighten everything to worry him, but Mercedes checks with medical precision to make sure that it isn't too tight.

"Is this still alright?" Mercedes asks.

"Yes," Dimitri replies, only to have something smelling distinctly of leather brush against his lips.

"Remember," Sylvain says, "If you start feeling distress or something isn't comfortable, you will break the twine and either wave for us or get yourself out, understand?"

"Yes, Sylvain," he says, soft, against the leather. "I will."

Someone, probably Mercedes, presses it closer and he obediently opens his mouth and lets them feed the leather tongue in before he bites down, the panel flush against his burning face, making noise near impossible when its fastened.

There's something about being silenced that thrills and shames him at the same time, and he's never been able to decide if he loves or loathes it.

"There we go." Sylvain says, and it occurs to Dimitri to wonder what it is, exactly, that they plan on doing with him now.

The warmth at his back leaves, but he only mourns the loss for a few seconds, as he's guided down on his side, his head in Sylvain's lap, his feet raised and draped over Mercedes' legs.

"Hand me the blanket?" Mercedes asks, and its draped over him, tucked in down his back and under his feet.

And that seems to be all they have planned for him.

Wine glasses clink as they're lifted and returned to their side tables. Soft chatter and the click of Mercedes' knitting needles fills the spaces where the snap and pop of the fire in the hearth leave empty. Eventually, Sylvain shifts around him to reach for something and starts reading, some story that they're obviously in the middle of, carding his fingers gently through Dimitri's hair and playing idly along the edges of his blindfold and gag.

Dimitri tries, at first, to follow what's being said between them, but by the time Sylvain starts reading, he's no longer paying attention to the words themselves. Mercedes shifts from time to time, adjusting his bound legs for her comfort and he tries to apologize, realizes he can’t, and that the apology is silly anyway, and the awkward guilt melts away. He's cozy and held safe and spoiled by Sylvain's fingers in his hair, the warm, steady drone of his voice, the heat of Mercedes' legs under his own and the weight of whatever project she's working on over him.

There's the warm glow if he bothers to open his eye, but there's little reason for it. He drifts, leaving all conversation and worry in Sylvain and Mercedes' hands, until sleep finds him secure under their care.


End file.
